


Tired

by zsaszspaz



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Crossover, Drabble, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Nonexplicit sex, mostly just angst, pov of stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 01:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsaszspaz/pseuds/zsaszspaz
Summary: Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory (Dr. Seuss)





	Tired

**Author's Note:**

> my fav writer told me to improve my writing maybe i could write drabbles so this was born and im a very unprofessional person in general, so like…yeah. i tried to not be like "fuckity fuck where m'boyfriend be????¿¿¿????¿??" but it's basically all this is. so…enjoy?
> 
> i listened to "i don't want to miss you (like i do)" by austin weber on repeat so there's that

There was something about sitting down with a thick stack of cash in hand after a long day of lying to a bunch of cross eyed tourists. Stan felt like it was a well deserved rest, and it was a plus that he got to rifle through cash that he got from exploiting peoples stupidity.

He began to thumb through the bills, counting up the numbers. He smiled to himself as he reached the end of the bundle. $1,680 in one day, in tours alone. He grasped for his pen, and when he found it, he clicked it open and began to record the day's profits. He was doing pretty good job in Gravity Falls. Everyone seemed like they hadn't ever seen fresh meat in town, which was probably true. It was extremely secluded, densely forested, and people only really drove through it because it was a half an hour from Portland. When Stan started actually roaming around in public, people went wild.

After eleven years of people looking at you with these expectations, Stan was exhausted. They were all cut from the same cloth—homophobic Christians mixed with sketchy redneck. If they knew he was the queer Jewish guy from New Jersey, it would make these people cry. It was bad enough that some of them suspected of something going on, they didn't need to know he was basically filled with things that made them get real fired up and angry.

God, those eleven years of forced abstinence was even worse. If he really wanted some tail, he could drive up to Portland, but that'd cut into his work; between his career as a tour guide and fixing the portal in the basement, he was pretty much booked. Besides, even if he felt like sleeping with any of the women here, which would be a cold chance in hell, they were all either married or saving themselves. The younger generation looked like they were started the movement of pulling the stick that's wedged in everyone's ass, but he was 39, and not getting any younger. They wouldn't give him a second glance.

Stan sighed. He missed his twenties. And now his thirties have been wasted.

A tiny voice in the back of his head made itself heard, as it always did: _It's not the twenties you miss…it's Rick._

He hated that stupid voice.

It seemed to forget the fact that Rick had decided to not find Stan. He's had those stupid eleven years to come find Stan, like he always had, but he decided that, after five years of running around like maniacs all over the multiverse, this time, he just didn't feel like coming to find Stan.

He had only driven three hours away. Rick could've found him if he was a hundred dimensions away. He chose to not come find him, figure out why he had left. Stan planned out a whole speech he was going to tell Rick when he came to him, and it went along the lines of, "If I told you where I was going, you'd tell me that Ford wasn't worth it, that my brother had betrayed _me_, but I have family loyalty blah, blah." But then days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and he realized Rick was never coming back.

Sometimes he wished he had just decided to rip up the postcard and shove it in the trash. If he had, he might've had Rick longer, and his brother would be safe, finding someone else to take away that stupid book. Stan remembered Rick taking him to alternate dimensions, and showing him that there was an infinite number of Stans and an infinite number of Ricks. There was an infinite number of everyone.

Stan wondered if there was a Stan that chose Rick over his brother, one where him and Rick did the whole shebang, bought a house together, lied to the adoption agencies, saying they were Stanley and Rachel, or Stacy and Rick. Raised the kids with both of their strengths—Rick's brains, and Stanley's street smarts. They'd teach 'em to fight tooth and nail for what they believed in, whatever that was, and to be smart about it.

But Stan doubted any Rick anywhere would stay still long enough to really do any of that. Maybe one who was less wily, less of an adventurer, charging headfirst into whatever absolutely ridiculous quest tickled his fancy. A Rick who's pride wouldn't be his death, and his spite being the force that drove it closer.

If there was a Rick out there like that, Stan didn't think he would've given him a second glance. He was too busy doing his own stupid bullshit to actually think he's want anything like that. It was Rick's passion that nabbed Stan's attention, and what held him in place.

Without it, he'd just be a nerdy guy with a drinking problem.

He might've even been worse in bed, which sounded hilarious. Rick Sanchez? Bad in bed? Ludicrous, that man could fuck like his life depended on it. Every twist of his hips, the way he scraped his fingernails across flesh, and how he be underneath Stan, or on top of him, but he insisted of facing him, forcing eye contact. He could be on the cusp of an orgasm, and he would still look directly into his eyes.

If anyone was an expert in undoing Stanley Pines, it was Rick. He knew how to break down every wall Stan had set up, but still managed to keep his own up. Until the end. In the end of their five years together, Rick seemed to finally start letting Stan in, and it was beautiful behind those walls. It was fragile, but nonetheless perfect. Which was why he still felt so betrayed that Rick gave up on him. The time they had spent together had been less than half the time than they had spent apart, but Rick had set up shop in his memories, his recollection of that smart face and wild blue hair ingrained into him like it had been eleven minutes, not eleven years.

If this was what love felt like, he hated it. He wanted to get over him. It had been_ eleven damn years_. And he was _still_ hung up on the lanky blunet.

Rick would be _his_ death.

Stan set down his pen as he noticed he started writing _Rick_ on his notepad. He felt a wave of disgust wash over him. His self control was already fucked subconsciously, but he was crossing a line when he began to let it effect the outside world. He got up, taking his fez off and setting it on the table; he started to walk away. He paused and let himself still. He weighed his options for a moment before pulling out his wallet. He groped inside it until he felt what he was looking for, and pulled it out.

It was a weathered polaroid of them together. Rick had one hand in Stan's hair, the other had a bottle of Budweiser clutched in his fist. Stan had taken the picture; his free arm wrapped around Rick's waist. Rick was so busy kissing Stan's neck, he hadn't noticed the camera until it flashed and clicked, which made his expression look almost comical in the photo. Eyes wide open in surprise, and the beginning of a smile that was pressed against Stan's throat. Stan's face was mid laugh.

He looked so young, mullet and all. Rick's hair wasn't much better. It wasn't quite as long as Stan's, but those lofty, blue spikes were swept back in an attempt to tame them. They both looked like they could conquer the world, not knowing that a few weeks later, they would never see each other again.

Or maybe Rick did know. Maybe he was just waiting for Stan to leave, so he didn't have to live with ditching Stan.

Maybe he sensed that Stan was getting too close to his heart, and desperately was trying to protect himself. Those walls that Stan worked so hard to get past was Rick's armor, and Rick felt too vulnerable without it.

Stan let out an earth shattering sigh.

Every night. Every night was like this.

Stan was just tired.

**Author's Note:**

> the one thing i need to practice is dialogue but what do i do? write this whole fuckin' thing where it's just struttin' around stan's head when he's reminiscing about what could've been.
> 
> is this leading up to something?? maybe. maybe not. depends on if i'm bein' lazy.
> 
> btw i am very open to criticism !!!!! please give me some i'm trying so hard to improve :////


End file.
